


The Daughter

by TheGayDhova (TheChosenDhova)



Series: A Family that Feeds (Stays Together) [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Ponders, Abigail pov, Descriptive organ harvesting, Happy Murder Family, Mild compared to the last 2 parts, Murder, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Organs, Short One Shot, Some Humor, not a doctor so probably inaccurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 09:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15458613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChosenDhova/pseuds/TheGayDhova
Summary: Abigail ponders about life with her dads, happy as can be. Later, a family outing for some groceries (of the rude variety).Part 3 but not really. Just wanted to add in some of Abigails' feelings into all of this. Happy and short and bloody--a lot more mild compared to the last 2 parts. Enjoy!





	The Daughter

Abigail loves her fathers.

She really, really does.

But after the third night in a row that she finds herself having to sneak out due to loud (and embarrassing) noises waking her up, she’s about had it up to here (here—being miles high annoyed).

Honestly, it makes her feel like the adult of the house.

The night is calm, and thankfully warm as she makes her way down to the coast’s edge. The water makes soothing noises with its waves as she takes her time walking, and ultimately, thinking.

Compared to growing up, she’d trade it all away again to be with her dads now.

Garret Jacob Hobbs hadn’t been a terrible father to her per se. But…

Every day, living in fear of what he would do. What he would make _her_ do. She can’t say she exactly hated hunting. She didn’t. The thrill, the chase. Knowing sometimes that some of the girls _did_ deserve to die for being terrible (Maybe not to her, but certainly to others). And her biological dad at least knew how to cook what they caught. Humans had plenty of good meat inside them, after all.

It was the fact that she never had the choice to say no in the beginning. Her father had been strict, always after the end goal instead of the process.

 _But it’s not like that anymore,_ she thinks to herself, kicking dry sand up with her bare feet.

Her Dads now—were **amazing**.

Well, save for when she’s unintentionally kicked out due to…private time.

 _Ugh_.

As she continues on, listening and taking in her surroundings, she ponders. She’s not sure what it was that brought the two back together after such a disastrous ending in Baltimore all those years ago (With her holding in Wills guts while Hannibal walked out, face blank and void of all emotions. Tears from her and Will. So many tears, so much pain).

Annoyingly they still won’t tell her. Just that some man named Mason Verger bit off more than he could chew (Hannibal got this look in his eye at that, like a punchline had been spoken that Abigail just wasn’t in on).

All she knows is that she waited years, locked away in the name of getting the ‘mental stability’ she needed at some young adult mental hospital ward. She hated it there with a passion, the nurses uncaring, and the patients rude. She would’ve run away long before even a month in, but Will had promised to find a way to get her out. The only problem there is that the state (Jack, really. She wasn’t stupid) wouldn’t let him. At the time, he’d been as physiologically distraught and damaged as her, if not more so.

It wasn’t so bad, at first, when he’d been allowed to visit. But as the first year dragged on, it was clear he wasn’t getting any better after Hannibal’s abandonment. Abigail used to worry so much for him. Even then, they’d been more than just her adoptive fathers. But now it was different.

They were all different.

But in a good way. When she had been woken in the middle of the night, just those few years ago today (thus the exuberant bedroom noises tonight; it was technically their honeymoon) she had been shocked to see them standing outside her door. Hannibal was truly good at almost everything because all it took was a little white lie and some convincing of the night-watch nurses that they were visiting relatives of an elderly patient a few room over from hers.

It wasn’t hard at all to sneak out an emergency exit that just happened to be disabled after that (she’s pretty sure that was Hannibal’s doing too). They’d made their way to the parking lot under the cover of darkness, holding back any words, quickly getting into a car she’d never seen before. It was silent, save for some soft music on the radio, as they drove for about an hour, small smiles passing between all of them—even with Abigail in the back seat. Eventually they came to pull into a motel on the side of the highway. They’d gone inside quickly, locking the door and closing all the blinds just to be safe.

But they needn’t worry, because no one came for them that night, and not ever sense, even years later. They were always careful, after all.

She’d been so happy then, hugging and near crying at seeing them together again, apparently all past hurts forgiven. She herself had never really needed any time to forgive and forget. After Will explained on one of his few allowed visits how he’d tried to give Hannibal the time to escape, she came to understand how it all came apart without any of them meaning to. And if Hannibal had forgiven Will, then she knew she fully could too.

They told her all about what had been going on the past few years, how Hannibal had been in Florence, trying to escape his feelings (though he didn’t say it out loud, but she knew), and Will had been working away his own grief fixing boats and taking in strays and just generally isolating himself (which was also a given even without the words). His journey to track Hannibal was glazed over with vague descriptions here and there, but she got the general idea about how pain and longing had brought them back together. She’d hugged Will then, and pulled Hannibal in with a laugh, and eventually they rested on the single bed as a family for the first time in years.

It had been easy after that, settling in at their new home here on the coast of Italy. Her dads were always generally happy, and that in turn makes _her_ happy. Not to mention seeing Will be free of his personal burdens after his two surgeries. She hadn’t been squicked in the least when the two came to her and offered her the position of nurse at both. After all, she’s seen plenty of naked bodies when she helped her first dad prepare them. Admittedly, it was different dealing with a live body, but seeing as it was just Will’s, she was happy to help and learn from the opportunity.

And the family hunts are almost always interesting. She’s given the choice to opt out every time (by Will mostly), but she wants to learn to be a better hunter. Hannibal teaches her all in the ins and outs of learning a person’s routine, so you know when best to strike. If they live alone, their age and assumed strength (how easily they’ll go down). He’s already taught her how to cook most simple meals for the meat afterwards, and Will takes her fishing every other weekend to tell her how best to handle different situations if she finds herself alone with a target. She’s been meaning to ask him if he can show her any fighting moves, seeing as he used to be a cop, but he has yet to share them (because he’s stubborn and doesn’t want her needing to be fighting). She couldn’t ask for a better set up though, and is grateful every day.

She smiles, checking her phone from her pocket and seeing she’s been gone about an hour or so, and decides it’s probably safe to head back now.

Turning back, she retraces her steps in the sand inches from the wave lines washing up, and spots the fair-sized house a little ways up from the coast and on a hill. It’s more modern than Abigail thinks Hannibal would usually pick for himself, but she has a feeling he chose it mostly for Will and discrepancies sake. They are still on the run, technically.

At least Hannibal is. She’s not sure about herself and Will; if they’re labeled missing or accomplices’.

She’s surprised to see the living room lights on from the wide glass porch doors, her two fathers seen moving about so late at night (and after…she blushes, not able to finish the thought). She slides the glass door open, not even attempting to hide because they probably already noticed her empty room when they came down.

Will is on the couch putting his shoes on, dressed casually and lightly, a pair of leather gloves sitting next to him. Hannibal is returning from the closet, coat and duffle bag in hand. She knows that bag, and what it means.

“Hey, Dads. What’s up?”

They both look up at her entrance, neither shocked or surprised to see her coming in from outside. They’d long since given up on punishing her for going out when they were loud. Though it was always funny to see Will go a little red, knowing he’d been the cause of her nighttime trips. Least they deserved, really, for kicking her out that way.

“We’re running low on groceries. Care to join us, Abigail?” Hannibal says as he puts on his long dark-red coat.

Ah, she knew it. Stocking back up on groceries only meant one of two things: Actually going to get groceries, or meat hunting. And seeing as it was near two in the morning, looks like meat was on the menu.

Before she could answer right away, Will cut in (as always when it came to hunting).

“If you want to come, of course. You can go back to bed…since we, ehem, kept you up.” He stammers out towards the end, the usual redness appearing. She sees Hannibal give Will an endearing look behind his back where he stands with duffle bag in hand.

Abigail smiles too, an eager feeling coming over her like all other times they’ve invited her along.

“I want to come, Dad. Just let me get my shoes on.” She says, going over to the shoe rack by the front door by Hannibal. She hears Will sigh, but she knows he secretly likes involving her, effectively making the hunt ‘Family time’.

Once she’s ready, they head out to the car, something similar to Hannibal’s Bentley from Baltimore. Some tastes never die, she guesses. She dutifully gets into the back seat, sitting in the middle so she can lean forward between her dads, a smile still plastered on her pink lips.

“So, who knocked into who’s shoulder this time?” she asks playfully.

“Abigail.” Will chides, sending a very Dad-like look towards her.

“It was Wills’, actually.” Hannibal informs her as they back out of the long driveway.

Will turns towards Hannibal, the same look now being sent to his husband.

“I still think that barely qualifies someone to be our choice of cut, Hannibal.” Will tells him, the sound of resignation in his voice.

Abigail knows this has been an age-old argument between the two, but it always makes her heart warm. Sure, such an action would have put someone on Hannibal’s dinner list long before he knew them, but she knows it’s because of Will that he’s so set on this guy tonight. It’s clear as day how possessive the man is, and if Will wasn’t completely taken by that she’d be worried. But Will was, and in the end it just made her love them that much more. True love, and all that.

“He nearly knocked you down, Will. Didn’t even turn around to apologize. Being on the phone doesn’t excuse that.” Hannibal says calmly, a _Rude_ whispered under his breath.

Will just sighs, a small smile taking over when he looks out the window that Abigail sees (and is sure Hannibal does too).

The drive is quite long, as it usually is when going to a hunts home so as to not arouse suspicion, but Abigail doesn’t mind. It gives them time to go over the plan of action for the coming events. Abigail likes her new fathers’ ways of handling the kills. No longer is she just there to be the tantalizing lure—No, she gets to be part of the actual hunt. All to an extent of course, Hannibal’s really the only one with the muscle and she isn’t the biggest fan of going one-on-one with the prey. But she feels like a part of the unit for once, unlike with her birth dad.

They explain how they’re going to enter through the back doors (not uncommon, yeah) and how they’ll split up to block all exits incase the prey (A Laud Mowers, she now knows) tries to make a break for it.

“Can I make the first cut?” she asks eagerly from the back seat. They’re about half way there now.

“If all goes smoothly, yes. I plan to keep this one alive for a bit, if you can handle that.” Hannibal says, an encouraging smile touching his lips in the rearview mirror.

Abigail thinks about it for a minute. She’s only ever been present when they’ve already killed their target, and even then only to help bag the organs as they’re taken. But she ends up nodding, a determined look in her eyes. She wants to make them proud, after all.

“Yeah, I can.”

“Good.” Hannibal replies. Will just sighs again, though Abigail knows it’s only because he thinks she’s growing up too fast. He’s always been the more reluctant one to let her in on the hunts at all, but not because he doesn’t think she can handle it; which she appreciates. But it does get tiresome trying to convince him that she won’t get hurt, won’t let the prey touch her. She’s quick and smart on her feet, so really he worries over nothing.

Finally, after about two hours of idle talking once the plan is finalized, they stop a block away from the home they’ll be invading tonight. Abigail grabs the black duffel bag next to her and together the three of them hastily exit the street lights and enter into the dark.

0000000

Abigail can’t help but laugh every time they don their ‘Murder suits’ as Will calls them. Crinkly, clear plastic one-piece suits that covered nearly their entire body, and all of their clothes. Will and her share a smile, knowing Hannibal always chastises them for making fun of the suits if he catches them doing so. But she admits that they are effective, and have a very important purpose.

Behind Mr. Mowers’ home now, they easily break through the lock on the back door by picking it (add that to Hannibal’s growing list of skills). Will enters after Hannibal, and Abigail last with her heart racing, not in fear but in excitement. The hunt never ceases to bring out all of their inner beasts, and when it’s all three of them there’s that added protectiveness that ups the violence of the kill.

They easily locate their prey in the living room, still up surprisingly, laughing boisterously at something on the loud T.V, which only works on making it so they can sneak up better. Hannibal and Will approach each end of the couch on silent feet, still slightly behind the unaware man, and Abigail slinks over to the light switch.

She waits for Hannibal’s nod, and then flips it on.

The proceeding events always have a few ways of playing out, she’s learned. Sometimes, the prey fights back with all their strength. That can lead to black eyes or bloody lips, and in turn a more long and drawn out death for them. Other times, the prey is already sleeping and thus easy to either drug or choke out. Hannibal always watches with every ounce of his being when it’s Will with his hands around someone’s throat.

But tonight is purposely a drugging night, even with the target still awake, and as soon as the room floods with light her dads strike in perfect unity.

“What the—” Laud tries to say, but Hannibal has his mouth covered in seconds, while his other hand goes to hold down a struggling arm. Will has his other side, both now standing over the man on the couch. Abigail doesn’t wait, setting down the duffel bag she was charged to carry in, opens it and pulls out a pre-loaded syringe filled with opiates. They were best to help keep the man aware but unable to fight back. It was a special blend that wouldn’t mess with the meat, one Hannibal made himself and has used before (When, she doesn’t know), and soon she is standing by her fathers, going in with practiced motions to inject the struggling man in the crook of his offered arm.

Within moments he’s lying lax in their hold, a faraway look on his face. He’s released, but doesn’t move and only makes a few deep breaths every once in a while. They set to work at that, Abigail following Hannibal’s directions as she pulls out a tarp from the bag, along with a knife and scissors. They lay out the tarp over the carpet along with their doped up prey, and Hannibal takes the scissors to cut off the man’s shirt.

“I’m thinking kidney, liver and shoulder meat?” Hannibal says, all cheer and casualness.

Will just huffs a laugh. “Shoulder meat? Really?” But Hannibal doesn’t give him an answer, though Will probably didn’t expect one. Abigail knows it must be because the man had nearly knocked Will over with it. The other organs are the norm, so Abigail is ready when Hannibal turns to her.

“You remember where to start right, Abigail?” he asks her, and she nods without hesitance. This, she can do. Livers and kidneys are what her father would take the most to keep, before. Hannibal, however, has a much more refined way of removing the organs, and much better culinary skill to be able to take such unusual cuts like shoulder meat, or more commonly, thigh and glutes.

So she starts with the liver, since she knows that one best, slowly cutting into the side of the man’s bigger stomach. The man himself is so out of it, he doesn’t make a sound until she’s in deep with the blade, one gloved hand holding the skin flat.

“Nnnnn….”

“Hush, you.” Hannibal chides the man, sending him a glare of steely red eyes. Abigail senses he still holds fresh animosity towards the man, while Will just rolls his eyes and keeps his weight on the right side just in case the man tries to move. But he needn’t worry, the drugs were working perfectly and the man was completely out of it. Doesn’t mean he didn’t feel the pain though, but Abigail just kept at it, until she knew she was deep enough to pull the knife back out. The next part was always the trickiest.

“Sever all the connections to it first right?” she asks, looking up to Hannibal. Her dad nods, not worried in the least because he knew she would do just fine.

“Yes. Gently now.” He says, and she is, as she reaches inside the split flesh with hand and knife, holding the handful of kidney in her palm as she cuts anything everything holding it in place. It was out within moments, and she pulled the organ out slowly, Hannibal’s gloved hands waiting with wrappings for it. The process was much the same for the liver: a new cut, slow and steady, and then done.

“Excellent.” Hannibal says, taking the dark organ and packaging it away. “Let’s turn him over now, shall we?”

They flip the man over, a groan and gurgle his only sounds, and Abigail places his torn shirt underneath him so the blood doesn’t spread out too much on the tarp, lest they get any on their knees and leave an unnecessary mess when they leave. This is where Hannibal takes over, pressing strong fingers in to the mans’ muscles to feel where the most meat is. Abigail is always amazed at his quick work, especially when dealing with muscle and not a simple organ; the Doctors’ definitely earned his title and then some (Both Dr. _and_ Ripper), she thinks. Will takes the red and bleeding muscle as it is handed to him in strips and chunks, wrapping it up effectively and handing it to Abigail who then bags it in the duffel in a small portable cooler alongside the organs.

Another ten minutes and a switch of sides with Will, and the other shoulder is harvested as well. A good hunt, barely any effort. And now they’ve restocked their meat (for now), so the next steps are all about cleaning up and leaving no evidence behind safe for what they _want_ to be found. For tonight was more than about refilling the fridge; this man had been rude—and not just to anyone, but to Will. So she knew that Hannibal would see to humiliating this man in his final resting place. She could still hear wheezy breathing coming from the limp form at their feet, so she knew that more was in store for him.

On the drive over, Hannibal and Will had seemed to come to an agreement over how to display this kill. They’d debated on if it should be like a Ripper kill, which would end up attracting attention, or something more base, that would slip under Jacks ever-present radar. It ended up being ‘keep it simple’, and thus they work on dragging the man into his bedroom.

Abigail helps by cleaning up the tarp and making sure no blood has dripped off from it, packing away the tools after wiping them down with alcohol wipes that would be destroyed later, and then working on helping set up the display. She starts by turning off the T.V, and righting any pillows on the couch that got pushed out of place. The plan was to make it seem like he was murdered in his bedroom, killed by an amateur organ harvester (Which, Abigail technically was).

That means the man had to die in his bed. When she’s certain that the living room looks put together, like nothing out of the ordinary had taken place there, she grabbed the stuffed duffel bag gently, mindful of the food inside, and walked down the hallway after flipping the light switch back off, to where she could hear her father’s talking in a bedroom.

“Together.”

‘Together’ being gloved hands clasped over one another on a small pocket knife, previously packaged and untouched, straight into the mans’ heart. Slowly, inch by inch, she watched as her Dads’ watched the man dying under their combined efforts. Hannibal was the first to look away from the dying man (who moaned and struggled for the first time yet, fruitlessly) to watch his husband. Will was entranced, breathing low but quick in excitement. It was all very intimate, and months before Abigail would’ve felt like she was intruding. Anymore, she just knew it was a sign of how much she was loved that she got to see these moments between her dads.

The man on the bed gurgled and gasped, eyes wide and swiveling everywhere, before they went glassy and his body still. Hannibal and Will stepped away then, the small knife left embedded. Will was slower at coming back—still in a headspace only he could grasp, and as three they walked out of the dead mans’ bedroom and then home, locking up and disappearing as if they’d never been there at all.

They never leave a trace for Jack to find.

Abigail lets a small smile take over, the high of a successful hunt great and as vast as the love for her fathers. They journey back to the car, the duffel bag put in the trunk this time to keep the meat cool, having removed their plastic suits to dispose of later.

“So,” she asks once they’re on the road again, “can I be the one to pick the food out next time?”

Will just sighs, whereas Hannibal chuckles, before telling her,

“Of course, Abigail. I think I know of some places that could use a good browse.”

You could say she was pretty happy with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you want to read about from our Murder Family next! I'm open to any suggestions--the bloodier and sexier the better!  
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
